


an inch at a time

by tinysmallest



Category: Bendy and the Ink Machine
Genre: Gen, bendy and the ink machine over the rainbow au, in which sammy learns it's time to stop pushing people away damn it, over the rainbow au, various other characters are mentioned but it's literally only them talking so that'll do
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-11
Updated: 2018-12-11
Packaged: 2019-09-16 14:23:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16955658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinysmallest/pseuds/tinysmallest
Summary: Healing is slow, steady work, especially after so much unrelenting trauma. Sammy Lawrence has yet to really grasp that. But there's one person who might be able to reach him...





	an inch at a time

**Author's Note:**

> So I uh. Got really inspired by the Sammy twitter takeover thing and wrote [Over the Rainbow](http://upperstories.tumblr.com/tagged/over%20the%20rainbow%20au) fluff that I only remembered was super impossible halfway through, because Sammy was not saved in human form. 
> 
> I also only just barely remembered in time that Alice was left mute in this au, which ended up working out in my favor, honestly.

Sammy Lawrence was not a man given to wearing his heart on his sleeve. A stone cold cynic, the man learned early in life to keep one’s cards close to his chest. Feelings were not for talking about, especially when they were tangled and confused 24/7 and he would frankly rather forget the large majority of what those feelings were tied to. But every once in a while, as with most tragedies, the effects were inescapable, and physical reminders forced unpleasant self-reflection.

He was, at least, a little handsome– the horrors that plagued his life and stole so many years from him, so much of _himself,_ had not been much kinder to his memories, but he remembered that bit, at least. He vaguely remembered feeling at ease with his appearance, and that he worked diligently to be presentable. He remembered he had long-ish hair, at least considering the times, and that he kept it in a little ponytail. He could not remember the color. Was it blonde or brown? It wasn’t a question worth considering when Henry led him and the toons into the light again, because all that mattered in that moment was the light– the air, the breeze, the colors and trees and sky.

But all highs come and go, and the high that came with freedom, of course, did too. Swiftly and without mercy.

Seeing himself in a mirror again thirty years and unspeakable evils later was likely going to go down as one of the most surreal moments of his life. A stranger stared back out at him, one with so many forehead lines, and crow’s feet, and pale, sickly skin. What could barely be qualified as hair was scraggly and gray, the ink having ravaged it to near obliteration. He looked like a late term cancer patient, except the truly disturbing part was barely being able to even recognize the reflection as himself.

_Was_ that even himself?

Who was he, anymore?

Staring at the man in the mirror as if he might move independently, Sammy backed out of the room.

Getting him to use the bathroom after that was a hassle.

Worse still was the decision that what was left of his hair had to go. It took nearly a week and many arguments before Mary could finally get the man to sit in the kitchen, clipping away at his hair while Sammy stared with a dull emptiness at the wall. The notion of going to a barber looking like this was too humiliating and so this was the compromise.

Even after all this time, he still had such little say over what happened to his own being, didn’t he?

He wished that the thought would at least inspire some sort of slow burn inside him. Being angry was much better than this numbness, even if it wasn’t loud or explosive. But things seldom went as Sammy wanted, and this time was of no exception.

An hour later found Sammy in the bathroom, the longest time he’d lingered in there since first catching sight of his reflection, staring at his bald head. Henry and Mary both promised that this was for the better, that this would encourage new hair to grow in, that this was a first step towards recovery. But all he could feel was his insides twisting, crying out that yet again, something had been taken from him.

How was he supposed to feel about this?

A hand tugged on his pants.

“Hello, my dear.” The automatic response fell from his mouth, his subconscious miles ahead of coherent thought and easily recognizing the gesture as something the mute Alice would do to get someone’s attention. Tearing his gaze from the mirror, he glanced over his shoulder and downwards at the little angel, feeling his tense body soften as if a switch had been flipped. “Can I help you?”

Her pretty little face twisted into a look of massive concentration, her hands raising and slowly moving about with the clumsiness of someone unsure if they’re doing something correctly or not. Sammy raised an eyebrow and she repeated the motion, and it was then that he realized she was attempting to use the thing called sign language that she was learning to make up for her lack of a voice.

"You look so sad. Can I help you?"

Dear little thing. Her very soul had been robbed from her when her voice was taken, and yet she was still concerned more about others than herself. His heart swelled a little with love and at the same time, withered with shame. He would never be that selfless, most likely. “No, I’m afraid not.”

"Are you sure? What are you so sad about?" She paused for a moment, frowning in frustration as she attempted to sign the next bit out but halted. Sammy watched, waiting for her to figure it out. "Mary says sometimes talking about the problem makes-" Another stop. With a sigh, she produced a pad and paper. _Mary says that sometimes talking about the problem makes a solution clear._

He wanted to be angry, but again, found no strength, even in his ocean of salt, to be so. “It’s a cute idea, but it doesn’t work so well in practice.”

_Humor me._ She tapped the pen against the sentence, a stern little frown puckering up her face.

Sammy blinked in surprise. Well then. It seemed like Alice had some of her bite back.

“It’s private.”

_I know. But letting people past walls feels better._

“No, it doesn’t.” The reaction was instinct, like taking a hand away from an accidentally touched hot object.

_Yes it does._ She was tapping her foot now.

“How would you know?” he snapped, finally finding that ire he’d been trying to tap into and immediately regretting it as she leveled him with a glare that put his to shame.

_Because it’s not like I didn’t suffer too, you know, and I see what bottling it up does to people. Bendy doesn’t like to talk any more than you do._

He winced. “… I’m sorry.” Just a few minutes ago he’d admired her selflessness and then he tried to step all over it. Why must he be a jerk at every available opportunity when he wasn’t being a sad, wet blanket?

It wasn’t like he didn't want to enjoy life. It just didn’t feel very possible at times. A lot of the time. The longer the days dragged on, the further away that feeling of light and joy from the first few moments of freedom felt. It was like he’d learned to fly for all of a day and now had cinderblocks on his feet.

_I know you’re hurting. I won’t tell anyone anything you tell me._ Tell. Hah. She couldn’t speak. There was an ironic joke in there somewhere-

Was… was that a bitter little smile touching the corners of her mouth? She saw it too, and…

His heart twisted. Alice didn’t deserve to feel that kind of poison in her. Bitterness was his weapon for so much of his life, that much he remembered, and he also remembered it leaving him pretty incapable of actually talking to people, shutting them out at most opportunities.

Such was the nature of walls.

That sudden thought gave him pause. Yeah. Such was the nature of walls. Did… he really want to spend the rest of his life, however long that might be, using that defense mechanism as his weapon? Keeping everyone out? He lost thirty years because Joey had a goddamn god complex. How much more time could he afford to lose?

… Did he want to look back, another thirty years from now on his deathbed, all alone, with only himself to blame for it?

“… You promise, don’t you?” It felt like such a childish thing to say, but there was no way he wanted any of this to get back to… anyone else, if he were being honest.

She nodded, her face relaxing into hope so strong it made him ache. Well, there was no backing out now.

“I hate this.” Very specific, Sammy. “I hate how… empty everything feels. I remember that day we finally left the studio and it was so- magical- it was like- like walking on air! And now…”

He gestured furiously to his reflection, scowling at it. “Now this! Look at this! I’m no more in control of anything inside or outside of me now than I was then! The things he did are still there! I remember anytime I look at myself! I hate looking at myself! I’m- old! Empty! I’m-”

Broken.  
Sad.  
 _Afraid._

A sudden weight at his waist nearly knocked the wind out of him and he looked down, raising his arms to find Alice clinging to his midsection. He forgot how much strength the toons could have in those noodle arms depending on their emotions- wait was she _crying!?_

… Had he said that aloud?

Shit.

Sammy hugged her, feeling panic build rapidly in his chest. Shit shit shit. She’s crying what does he do!?

“I’m sorry I- did I say that out loud? I didn’t mean- I didn’t mean to upset you Alice dear, please don’t- please don’t cry?”

Yeah, this right here was why he was pretty sure he’d never planned on kids.

She nodded into him. Okay, so that answered his earlier question with painful clarity. Shit. Again.

Why couldn’t he be half as eloquent with words as he was with music?

“I’m sorry, little angel. I shouldn’t-” He broke off as she let go of him, scribbling on her writing pad.

_No, I’m glad you told me. You needed to get that out._

“What good did it do anyone?” All it did was make Alice upset and make Sammy feel gross for dumping his stupid, upsetting thoughts on a girl already facing her own problems.

_Well now that I know what hurts, I have words._

“… All right.” God knew he didn’t have a right to stop her now that they’d both just opened this festering wound. He may as well allow her to continue.

_You feel helpless and scared, and you’re frustrated that things don’t feel as good as they did at first when we all got out. You’re afraid it won’t ever feel that good again, and you hate being reminded of all the bad things that happened. Everything hurts all the time and you don’t know when it’ll stop._

Well, that was an accurate summary. He swallowed. She tugged on him and he leaned down, stiffening in surprise when she touched his bald head.

After giving it a pat, she went on. _But it will. It’ll stop. Things will get better. It’ll be slow, like something growing, but it’ll come._

“Something growing…?”

_Think of it like flowers. They don’t bloom in a day. They grow slowly. Progress is measured in inches. Each day is another inch._

The tiniest smile quirked the corners of his mouth. “… Like hair?”

She smiled. _Like hair._

He straightened and looked at himself in the mirror before turning back to her.

“Thank you.”

_You’re welcome._

“Let’s go; the bathroom is starting to feel cramped with us just… loitering in it. I can… show you the music I was working on? Maybe you could help, if you want? I’m a little stuck. Could use a second opinion.” She beamed, flouncing out of the bathroom with a happy little hop. Sammy glanced back at the mirror.

Maybe it really would get better. Eventually. With people who cared about him, even when he dragged his heels and said stupid things.

Days would pass. He’d been through worse. The knots would loosen. The sun would put some color back into his skin. Working at Mary’s bakery might maybe improve his social skills. He’d make music. Relearn the needed muscle memory to play instruments. He’d put on weight and get used to eating and sleeping on a normal basis again. The walls might lower. His relapses would get fewer and further inbetween. His hair would grow.

He turned and left the bathroom.

**Author's Note:**

> I figured he probably forgets to eat and sleep since the ink and its magic basically rendered him capable of living without either.
> 
> Next on “I forgot a key element of the au” if I can figure out how to stitch the scenes together: Sammy is the only adult human at home, faced with three distressed toons at two in the morning, and isn’t good with words, what do.
> 
> Over the Rainbow au by [upperstories](http://upperstories.tumblr.com).


End file.
